


I'm Just Getting Warm

by afterism



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Hair Pulling, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Clothed Sex, hans is a mirror, kristoff is mostly a good person, literal roll in the hay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/pseuds/afterism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what Hans does: settles into the clockwork of their cadence and ticks away in time until he has what he needs to break them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just Getting Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written during [Porn Battle XV](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/65746.html), vaguely for the prompts mountain, hay, rope, cold, overwhelm & guilty but mostly for the need of Hans/Kristoff. :D
> 
> Title is because I can't resist a pun.

"We'll stop here for the night," Kristoff says, and Hans looks at the cabin sheltered by the trees, soaked dark by the rain and hunched into the mountain like a cornered animal, all crooked and dripping. Night creeps quickly up the slopes.

"You're kidding," Hans says, because he's still figuring out how to play this. He's settling into the rhythm of Kristoff - more brusque, less accommodating, and the sarcasm trips easily off his tongue, but it's been over a day and his hands are still tightly bound at the wrists, and they're still climbing higher every hour, and he still doesn't have a way out. 

"Nope," Kristoff says, and flashes him a satisfied grin as he hops down from the sleigh and takes the lantern before he unhitches the reindeer, leading it into the small stable that leans unsteadily against the cabin. He leaves Hans sitting in the rain and fading light, so easily assuming that he'll be there when he gets back - and he will, of course. Hans has so very many talents, but there was never much call for mountaineering in the Southern Isles, and the twisting paths run dangerously slick and unstable in the pouring rain. 

Still. Hans makes a point of jumping down from the sleigh, mud splashing his boots, and heads towards the the cabin. The shadows flatten out in the dusk and Hans waits, perfectly still, under the scant shelter of the porch, so when Kristoff emerges again and holds the lantern up to the sleigh there's nothing but space, and he whirls around with the light swinging wildly. The muddy track flashes stark for an instant, then the trees leading up the slope, then finally the cabin, and Hans is obscured by nothing but the rain as Kristoff's shoulders roll down and he settles on his back foot, raising his chin as his mouth slips into something like a smile.

He turns away, checks the sleigh is secure before he walks over without hurrying. He's a little looser, a little more considering that Hans would have expected. Interesting.

"You're eager," Kristoff notes, holding the lantern up between them and gestures for Hans to go inside. Hans lifts up his wrists, displaying the rope that prevents him from doing, well, anything.

Kristoff doesn't react. He hesitates, sure, but there's no eye roll or smirk or anything that Hans can work with, so when Kristoff steps past him and tries the handle, shoving his weight against the wood when it sticks in the frame, Hans just follows. 

"Ah," Hans says, drawing shoulder to shoulder with Kristoff a foot inside the door, as Kristoff holds up the light and doesn't move away. There's a huge, gaping hole in the roof. Water pours through, the floorboards swollen and creaking, and the single bed is a sodden puddle. "You can take the bed," he says, and grins when Kristoff turns his head just enough to see him.

"Come on," Kristoff says, and grabs him by the arm to turn him around and propel them back out of the door, back into the rain. Hans wonders, for a moment, if Kristoff is going to force him to sleep in the sleigh, but then he steers them towards the stable and pushes Hans through, pulling the door shut behind him as the hammer of rain on the ground turns into a hammer of rain on the roof, loud and rattling. There's a drip somewhere, and the reindeer takes up all of the right-hand side, but the hay looks dry and there's enough room to lie down and Kristoff is still holding onto his arm with a tight grip, so, he won't complain unless he finds a use for it.

"Stay," Kristoff commands, and catches Hans's eye before slipping out the door, taking the only lantern with him. Hans has dealt with worse - he rolls his shoulders, finds the wall in the dark as far from the reindeer as possible, and settles down into the hay, spiky and stale-sweet beneath him. The reindeer snuffles loudly, and ignores him.

Kristoff comes back with the light and a scratchy, rain-dotted blanket that smells old and earthy and animal, and he sets the lantern up on a hook by the door before he tosses the blanket neatly into Hans's lap. Hans catches the folds of it between his fingers and looks up at him, the tilt of his jaw all challenge, but Kristoff clearly isn't paying attention because he just shrugs, and blows out the lantern before he throws himself down between Hans and the reindeer.

There's barely half a foot between each of them, miles in the darkness, and the reindeer snores and Kristoff shifts to get comfortable with a crunch of hay. Hans sits up a little straighter and toys with the rough edge of the blanket. He has it to keep him warm in the damp night for the same reason that Kristoff let him ride up in the front of the sleigh, instead of thrown in the back with the other _things_ \- because Kristoff is fundamentally decent. He can work with that.

Hans holds it by the edge and shakes it out, settling over his legs, before he shuffles to his left until his knee knocks against Kristoff's thigh and he throws half the blanket over him, laying down close enough that his shoulder presses against Kristoff's.

"What," Kristoff says, his mouth a lot closer than Hans anticipated, face turned towards him, and even in the blind night Hans keeps his grin brief, just a flash of teeth.

"It's cold," Hans says, quiet and honest, and nature is apparently on his side as the wind howls through the uneven boards, rain rattling against the walls. Kristoff snorts but, interestingly, doesn't argue or shove him away, and when Hans crowds closer, flips onto his side and deliberately misses his mouth Kristoff is the one who turns his head, wraps a hand around the back of Hans's neck and _kisses him_.

Hans sprawls forward with a slick slide of his mouth, all heat and suction and his leg falling between Kristoff's thighs and his hands land on Kristoff's chest, the scratch of rope unmistakable against Kristoff's neck without pressing down at all and there's the trick, the reminder, that he's a prisoner. Hans kisses him like he can't stop, breathless and desperate and a roll of his hips against the crease of Kristoff's thigh just to punctuate his point, and then - _yes_ \- there's Kristoff's fingers wrapping around his wrists, finding the knot worked through the bonds and unravelling it. 

Just as his hands are free Kristoff suddenly flips them, Hans landing on his back with the jut of Kristoff's hip digging into his thigh, and all the breath rushes from his chest. His fingers tighten in Hans's hair and Hans's cock twitches as he bares his throat like an offering, as Kristoff just settles his knees either side of his legs and kisses him with an infuriating languidness, a kind of slow, searching intensity that Hans isn't remotely used to. Kristoff catches up one of his hands, pressing it down into the hay palm to palm and his fingers tight around his knuckles. 

This is his choice, either lying in the dark with his wrists bound or lying underneath Kristoff with his hands relatively free - but he can't let Kristoff think of this as a trade-off, because then he might stop, and there's something about the way Kristoff covers him utterly, kissing him so thoroughly, that makes his cock pulse with _want_. Hans slips a hand between them, knuckles brushing Kristoff's stomach as he works his fingers under the layers and down his pants until he finds Kristoff's cock, huge and hot and heavy against his palm. 

Kristoff steals the air from Hans's mouth, a rough, shuddering groan as his grip on Hans's hair twists tighter and Hans arches up, one boot slipping against the hay, his spine a perfect curve of tension. His fingers around Kristoff's cock slacken without pretence and he still has the presence of mind to be concerned about that, but he's nothing if not adaptable and there's a huff of warmth against his jaw that might be a laugh, as Kristoff trails his mouth down to the crook of his neck. Hans crashes back down into the hay and Kristoff draws his hand out from under Hans's head to brush down his side, palming his hip before he pushes up, cold air rushing between them. 

He gets Hans's breeches open with an ease that Hans marvels at, the hand pressed between the hay and Kristoff's palm hot and a little damp and clutching weakly back, and then Kristoff licks his palm before wrapping it around Hans's cock and his cry is hoarse and breathless and startlingly genuine. Hans curses his name and Kristoff just laughs, properly this time, moving back to kiss him with a deliberate press against the corner of his lips until Hans opens his mouth and turns towards him, fitting their mouths together with an achingly slow slide, and this might be getting slightly out of hand.

Kristoff bats Hans's loose fingers away from his cock and Hans barely has time to complain about it before Kristoff's cock is jutting against his own, and then, _oh_ , Kristoff wraps his hand around both of them and that's just perfect, all velvet and heat and an overload of sensation that turns into sparks. Kristoff kisses him without art and Hans mirrors him, curling his free hand around the back of Kristoff's head and pouring himself in, rocking his hips with shallow jerks that don't quite match with the drag of Kristoff's hand.

He's splayed out and wanton without design, dizzy with a pleasure he so rarely gets like this - it's unexpectedly _amazing_ , and he's just drawing himself into a cohesive whole capable responding properly, of turning this into something he can use instead of just letting it overwhelm him (despite how much he wants to, just lie back and let Kristoff do everything; that's not who he can be right now) when Kristoff has the audacity to come first, groaning against his tongue. It's even worse when he catches his seed in his palm and uses that to keep on sliding the length of Hans's cock, as his slips out of his grasp and rubs wetly into the crease of Hans's thigh, and now it's all slick heat and pressure and Kristoff sucking on his top lip and that's it, he's done, he comes with a cry that Kristoff swallows with such guileless joy Hans starts to dimly wonder who is playing who.

Hans is still boneless, still picking out which parts are hay and which parts are him, when Kristoff releases his hand and draws it down between them, strokes his thumb over the fragile stretch of his wrist and then starts to wrap rope around it. He binds his hands together again in the darkness, without looking, arched over him to give his fingers space to work and forehead pressed into the hay, breath still rough and warm against Hans's neck. When he's finished it's with a different sort of knot that gives Hans a little more room to move his hands apart but still bites into his skin when he tries to tug his wrists through.

"You're kidding," Hans says, his voice throaty and used, and he's pretty sure Kristoff is smiling when he tugs the blanket out from underneath him and presses it into his hands.

"Nope," Kristoff says, and doesn't kiss him again, but he does leave Hans the blanket when he rolls away. It's a start.


End file.
